"Here? Where?" I asked.
"Your uncle won a drawing for a free night here in Old Tombstone!" she exclaimed.
"Oh, okay," I murmured. Looks like I'll be able to meet Carter for a drink after all.
My quiet uncle appeared proud of himself while my aunt beamed him an adoring smile. As different as they were, they'd always been a doting couple. I viewed a relationship like theirs as enviable, even though they used to embarrass me when I was younger.
"You have time to look at more rocks," my aunt added.
"Yes, because that's all a rock hobbyist is interested in," I said with a sigh. I had given up explaining why I became an amateur geologist. My aunt had never gotten past the fact I was more interested in rocks than jewelry and accessories. "I do love them, though," I added, excited about the multiple rock shops I'd visited already. I had too many interests. I barely had the credits to escape the dreaded, generic liberal arts degree to obtain one in modern languages.
"I'm sure there are some fascinating specimens in these shops," my uncle added. "They have a lot of dinosaur fossils here, too."
"And meteorites. Maybe there's some space peridots," my aunt said.
We stared at her, surprised she'd noticed something about a gem that wasn't a price tag or whether or not her wealthy neighbors already owned something similar.
"Come on!" she said, oblivious. "Let's find our bed and breakfast. It's supposed to be authentic!"
"I really hope that doesn't mean we're peeing in buckets," I said with a laugh, recalling the first tour we went on when we arrived to Tombstone.
"You and me both." My uncle smiled then led us down the road to an intersection. His warmth always melted my impatience with my aunt, a reminder of how much I had always wanted a real father when growing up. My uncle was as close as I had gotten, and he'd always been sweet and supportive - but not really mine. He had three other kids that called him father while I called him uncle.
Orphaned when I was young, I was grateful that my aunt and uncle had taken me in and treated me as family. None of my cousins were roped into this crazy trip across the southwest in search of some kind of rare turquoise my aunt had heard about. Of course, none of them were geological hobbyists who could help her find what she wanted.
My uncle guided us around one of the buildings to a three story, restored Victorian house that appeared to deliver on the promise of being authentic by its wooden façade. The ground floor was a saloon with a sign hanging in front that read, Victorian Vittles Inn and Saloon.